


Sunbathed

by skitockså (Okumen)



Category: Ginga Eiyuu Densetsu | Legend of the Galactic Heroes
Genre: (or canon divergence bc either works), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, hints of survivors guilt, self-depriciation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28893963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okumen/pseuds/skitocks%C3%A5
Summary: Dusty is spread out over the floor, when Reuenthal enters the livingroom and nearly trips over him. Dusty tilts his head, to look up, up at Reuenthal, who towers above him.
Relationships: Dusty Attenborough/Oskar von Reuenthal
Kudos: 1





	Sunbathed

**Author's Note:**

> Yet more twitter fic: https://twitter.com/tofinut/status/1352194356334223360
> 
> Sequel/prequel/side/whateveryouwannacallit to _Smell of Coffee_ : https://archiveofourown.org/works/28891209
> 
> And that is another attenthal/reuenborough with a little less embarrassing fluff and smut.
> 
> Maybe it's because one of my cats insisted on shoving his face in the screen and yelling (he do be one yelly boy)

Sometimes, the energy simply runs out. There's none left for work, none to spare for personal projects. There's not even enough for getting up off the floor.

Dusty is spread out over the floor, when Reuenthal enters the livingroom and nearly trips over him. Dusty tilts his head, to look up, up at Reuenthal, who towers above him.

"The sofa is right there," Reuenthal points out, one finger pointing at the piece of furniture literally right next to Dusty. Dusty makes a noncommittal sound. "Would you like some help up?" He just makes another one.

Reuenthal watches him in silence, his pretty mismatched eyes locked on Dusty and his elegant fingers wrapped around the water pitcher. Dusty closes his eyes, pretending that he isn't uncomfortable with being watched while he's feeling utterly wrung out.

But it's just Reuenthal, it's fine. He's one of very few people Dusty allows to see him so utterly down in the dumps- though, the rest of them are gone, aren't they? He sighs, as the thought, once slipping into his skull, won't leave him be.

He doesn't hear Reuenthal set the water pot down. He does, however, feel his weight on top of him.

Dusty opens his eyes, and Reuenthal is _right there_ , his face so incredibly close. Dusty can feel his breath on his face.

"Hello there, Attenborough," Reuenthal says, as if his whole body isn't covering all of Dustys.

"Y're heavy, y'know," Dusty grumbles. There is a lack of any intonation in his voice, even he can hear it. "Y're not a cat, 'sskar."

Reuenthal hums slowly, a deep, soft sound. It would go right to Dustys cock, normally, but he's too tired even for that. "Thankfully so," Reuenthal eventually says. "I much prefer being human. At least with you."

Dusty lets himself be baited, not because he actually has energy for it, but because he wants to want their silly banter. He wants the normalcy of it. "Y'd wan'to be one?" There should be an _other times_ or something like that tacked on, but he lets the words stay unspoken.

"Hm. Well." Reuenthal props his head on his hands, on top of Dustys breast. "I would rather be a stone around Oberstein. Maybe someone could use me to bash his head in then. I'd rather be something without ears around Bittenfelt, particularily when he gets heated. Or maybe I want to be a squirrel around Oberstein. I could throw nuts and stuff in his head." Dusty can feel just the slightest tug at the corners of his mouth, at the mental image of emotionless Oberstein trying to ignore small projectiles thrown at him by a little heterochromatic squirrel with dark fur and pointy claws. "I guess being a cat around you wouldn't be _too_ bad though, I can imagine it might be pleasant to have your fingers run through my fur. Though still, I would prefer having them run through my hair. When we cuddle, kiss, or simply in passing."

Dusty gazes into Reuenthals eyes. They're clear, and Dusty can see the honesty in them. He knows how much of an effort honesty can be to Reuenthal, and it makes him appreciate those words even more, though he feels undeserving.

Dusty lifts one hand up to Reuenthals head, slipping his fingers into smooth, dark hair. Reuenthal shifts, pulling one arm free. He finds Dustys other hand, and laces their fingers together. His weight is warm and comforting. His thumb rubs against Dustys skin.

"You're too sweet," he murmurs, and though he is exhausted and words take an effort, he means them. He doesn't deserve this.

"No, I fear I'm not sweet enough," Reuenthal objects. "I'm sorry I can't comfort you as easily as you can comfort me. Expressing my emotions is not something that comes easy to me."

"That's not true. You're doing a good job right now. Can I ask something of you though?" Reuenthal makes a noise that sounds like either a _yes_ or _go on_ so Dusty does. "My name... Call me Dusty more often? Please?"

The fact that Dusty is a journalist named Attenborough, and the son of a journalist named Attenborough, was always a bit of a hassle, to him. People assume he write the exact same stuff as his father, when they have distinctly different tones to their writing.

And then there was the thing with being forced to be a soldier because only everyone elses happiness mattered, even the dead persons, while Dustys did not.

He meets Reuenthals gaze. The man seems a bit flustered. They both know that generally, Reuenthal only use Dustys given name while in the throes of passion.

He doesn't deserve that.

"Mmhh..." Reuenthal glances away. The colour that has risken to his cheeks is breath-taking. "I'll do my best. I'll probably trip up for a while, though."

Though undeserving, Dusty feels a little more at ease, a little less like the crushing weight of memories, expectations and loss push him down. It's not by much, but even a little is a lot.

"Oskar." Reuenthals gaze flicks back to meet Dustys. His cheeks are still powdered a pretty shade of pink. "I love you." His voice is heavy with the exhaustion of the world grinding him down, but he does mean it, even if his tone doesn't convey it. He sees how Reuenthals blush deepens to a redder hue. How he looks away. He feels how Reuenthals hand clutches tighter to his. He sees his lips move, and he's alright with not being able to hear any actual words.

Reuenthal isn't very verbal with his love. It's more conveyed through touches, like the weight of his body against Dusty, and his hand grasping his. They say _I love you_ , just as much as Dusty can in words.

He adores it. Too much.

Then there's the way Reuenthal presses his nose into the dip between Dustys breasts, and presses a recently freed hand to Dustys waist, languidly stroking.

Dusty feels his breath hitch, and he supposes that he's feeling a little better. It's like he's a battery, and Reuenthal is his charge station, plugging into the wall to let him fill up with energy again.

Love is weird. Not perfect, not a cure-all, but a helpful medicine, able to relieve the pain of living a bit.

"Can I?" Reuenthal asks. His finger is tracing the hemline of Dustys slacks, and Dusty can feel it through his sweater. He nods. His breath is shivering. "Dusty," Reuenthal insists, softly.

If Dusty hadn't wanted him to touch him before, purely because of the emotions he knew through those touches, he would have wanted it when hearing his name on his lovers lips. "Y- yes." Lips press against his skin, before Reuenthal lifts himself off of Dusty.

Dusty barely has the time to miss his weight, before Reuenthal presses back down on him.

He has done quick work of their trousers and there is warmth pressed to warmth. Their lengths, tipped up against their bellies, are pressed together between them. Reuenthal seeks Dustys hands with his own. They're face to face and now Dusty is the flustered one.

They lay on the floor, the sun shining down on them through the open livingroom window. Reuenthal slowly kisses him, slowly grinds their cocks together with only his own body weight.

The friction of skin an sensitive skin and their shirts feels wonderful, and for a while, Dusty can forget. He feels lighter than he should, with Reuenthals whole weight bearing down on him, but it's fine. The whispers against his lips tell him it's alright to be tired, that it's alright to be happy- The last insurance is the most important one to Dusty, because so many times, he has reminded himself that the opposite is true.

"Oskar...!" he gasps into Reuenthals mouth, and Reuenthal swallows up the sound like it's water in the desert, and Dusty loves him for it.

His body burns with the touches, the whispers, and he feels his legs tense as they press tighter against Reuenthals.

"Dusty," he hears, a deep, almost animalistic sound that he wants to hear again, and oh, he can't hold back any more.

His cry is embarrassingly loud, but he doesn't think about that right away, doesn't think at all as he's hit by his orgasm. Violent, harsh, perfect. He feels Reuenthals body press closer to his - or perhaps it's the other way around - and he hears his name moaned with such obscenity into his ear as Reuenthal cums that he cums again. With him, almost, which is a thought that has him giggling, much to his surprise.

Reuenthals breath is heavy in Dustys ear, and Dusty turns his head to press a kiss to Reuenthals cheek. "Oskar," he murmurs, and he sees a flash of blue, soon joined by the brown, as Reuenthal turns his head.

"Thanks." He nussles the side of Reuenthals nose with his own. "Another favour?"

"What is it-" Dusty sees his lips twitch uncertainly, before finishing off the question with, "-Dusty?"

Dusty feels a little warm inside at the almost shy attempt.

"I don't have the energy to get to the shower by myself. Could you help me?"

He feels Reuenthals lips twitch into a smile- no, a smirk, he sees, when Reuenthal rises on his elbows." I can help you wash, too."

Maybe Dusty doesn't deserve to be happy, but he can try anyway, and let himself bask in the affection he's being given, either way. One day, he'll believe that the lie his parents convinced him of to be true as a factual lie, with more than just his brain, and this helps.

Calling his precious lover a pervert helps.

Laughing helps.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates feedback, including:
> 
> Feedback
> 
>   * Short comments
>   * Long comments
>   * Questions
>   * Constructive criticism
>   * “<3” as extra kudos
>   * Reader-reader interaction
> 

> 
> This author sees and appreciates all comments, but replies may take time.


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